Backyard Scramblin’

I’ve always had a craving for sweet foods, especially as a kid. I also liked to climb trees; still do. I remember when the two cravings came together one day in my backyard near New Paltz, N.Y. My brother and I were climbing a tree. We didn’t know what type of tree it was, but it was high enough with branches that served as good scaffolding to shimmy around in. I remember noticing an oozing, clear substance trickling down the bark of the trunk and limbs. “Hey, let’s taste it,” I thought. So I did, and it was sweet. Soon the tree found both my brother and I scurrying for sap like two squirrels raiding a bird feeder. I was happy as a tree sloth: I had something sweet to eat, while some branches to climb, too.

The substance was maple sap. I confirmed the tree species a few years ago when I revisited my old backyard. My family moved away to nearby Gardiner, but I never forgot those trees. I asked the landowner living there for permission to walk about. Sure enough, there were two large sugar maples where I had climbed almost twenty-five years ago! I saw its lower branch reach out into the yard – like it did then – instigating me to let go and revisit a slice of childhood. I thought better; it wasn’t my place any more.

Backyard Trees for Sap

Sugar maple is not the only tree that produces abundant sap in late winter and early spring. Sycamore; black walnut; paper, black, and yellow birch trees; and all maples trees can be tapped for their sap.

However, some are sweeter than others. For instance, birch trees seem to produce more sap than any other tree. They’ll fill up a 5-gallon bucket in one day. However, it’s about 99 percent water, or 1 percent sugar. That means it’ll take about 85 gallons of birch sap to boil down to one gallon of syrup. After burning a lot of firewood, it boils down to a molasses flavor that some enjoy, and others not so much. Alaska produces the most birch syrup, but maple is not on their forest dessert menu.

I tasted black walnut recently at the New York Maple Conference – and it’s good. However, its syrup contains a lot of pectin and is difficult to filter. In addition, the Catskills and mid-Hudson Valley are not as abundant in black walnut as they are in maple. What about sycamore? There aren’t many of them, and they are mostly found growing in floodplains near streams and rivers.

Comparing Sugar Maple and Red Maple for Sap Production

Maple is abundant – relatively speaking – and gives ample sap and sugar content. You can tap any of

them; even Norway maple (Acer platanoides), according Steve Childs from Cornell Maple Research Program and Extension. Commercial producers typically tap sugar (Acer saccharum) and red maple (Acer rubrum). Quality syrup can be made by either of the two. It was thought that red maple had lower sugar contents, made darker syrup, and had a “buddier” sap because its buds break dormancy earlier than sugar maples.

However, I am hearing from Steve Childs and others that there is no substantial evidence of this. I believe them, since I once tapped a red, and its sugar was adequate and sap plentiful. Sugar maples have lighter gray bark and brown buds, while reds have shaggier bark (except when they’re young and growing fast) and large red buds. Sugar maple is pickier about where it likes to grow. It prefers well-drained soils, while red maple can tolerate both poorly drained soil and dry ridgetops.

Consider Backyard Sugarin’ for Homemade Syrup

The more sunlight your trees received last summer, the healthier and sweeter their sap will be. Normally, this type of discussion would naturally flow into a step-by-step process on backyard sugaring. But, to be honest, it’s really too late to begin sugaring. Maple sugaring is governed by three things: Last year’s sunlight, this year’s temperature, and your motivation. Sap flow cannot occur without freezing nights and warm days. The end of the 10-day forecast in our area has lows that are creeping up above freezing spelling the end of the sweet season, and the beginning of the growing season. The last criterion begins now – your motivation. Let’s talk about that.

You’ll need between 1/2 cord to 1 cord of wood to make five gallons of maple syrup. You could scramble and get things together and make something good, but maple sugaring demands patience and planning ahead. First, find some trees. If you don’t have sugar or red maple nearby, you’re out of luck. Second, get some sapwood a year ahead. Cut it, split it, and cover only the top so the ends can dry. You can either buy firewood ahead of time or cut it yourself. The problem with buying firewood for sapwood is you no longer have control over species. The best woods for boiling sap are least preferred for firewood. A fire that burns hot, fast, and leaves few coals is preferred for boiling sap. Good tree species include white pine, aspen, red maple, white ash, hemlock, and sassafras. The wood will burn even hotter if it’s split smaller too.

Any tree species that are competing for sunlight with your potential sugarmakers are candidates for sapwood. If you have some sugar or red maple trees nearby to tap, you can “kill two birds with one stone.” In this way, you can feed the boiler while letting in more sunlight to grow higher sugar contents come spring. Like most crops, more sunlight is better. The trees I tap are open grown. Typically maple trees are about 2 percent sugar content (42 gallons of sap to 1 gallon of syrup). The trees I tap receive plenty of sunlight and are often 2.5 percent (33 gallons of sap to 1 gallon of syrup). This year, they were a whopping 3 percent (27.6 to 1); though that’s unusual.

Lastly, you’ll need an evaporator – a pan used to evaporate away the water from the sap – and something to gather the sap in: buckets or tubing. Stainless steel is the way to go for an evaporator. Bake pans are readily accessible for backyard use, while gallon plastic water jugs for hanging “buckets” are an inexpensive option. Taps or spiles used to make the tap-hole can be purchased from any maple supplier. You can make your own from staghorn sumac if you’re super motivated as well.

Lessons for Backyard Maple Tapping

As the date approaches, more details on the process will follow. However, as things warm up, start planning for next spring. Get your wood in order. On a backyard scale, it’s not worth burning any other fuel. Propane is too expensive; you might as well buy the stuff. Choose your trees. The bigger their crown (or foliage) is, the better. Lastly, think about what and where you’ll boil this stuff. Don’t do it inside!

Remember, there’s going to be about forty gallons or so of water evaporating away. If you must tap this year, Catskill Forest Associationhas a small booklet that describes backyard sugaring step-by-step.Hey, you can always just tap one tree and use its sap for tea, coffee, or a slightly sweet and tasty beverage. On a good day, one gushing tap can produce over two gallons of sap.

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I made the decision last fall not to breed the ewes and to take a year off from lambing. Last winter was tough. We had a lot of snow and it was frigid for weeks on end, sort of like this winter. But when January came rolling around, even with blizzard after blizzard threatening, I started missing lambs.

I called Brian, my farming mentor and friend. I told him my plight. He just laughed. As one animal nut to another, he understood. So, I put in my order for a ram lamb. I even told him if he had one that needed bottle raising, I’d take it. Two days before Valentine’s, I got the call. His ewe Marianne had twins but no milk. I drove over to take a look. Romeo came home with me two days later.

It happened to be Valentine’s Day — thus the name. So, Romeo has joined the Bittersweet flock.

I’ve raised lambs on bottles, but only ones who just couldn’t get the knack of nursing. I bottle fed them, but they lived with their moms out on pasture and in the sheep barn. Raising a lamb inside, sharing your home with and being the one on whom a lamb relies for everything, is a different kind of commitment and a 24-hour-a-day job.

It took just 24 hours for Romeo to steal my heart. I love that he follows me around the house, his tiny hooves clipping along behind me. Lambs grow very quickly, so even though he’s small enough now to sit in my lap and nap or enjoy his bottle, I know that, in a few short weeks, he’ll be (almost) too big to do that.

I also already know I’ll miss it. So, when he calls from his playpen, simply because he wants to come sit with me, I’m happy to oblige. It seems a small thing to ask. After all, it wasn’t his choice to have a strange human be a substitute for his real mom. For now, I’ll let the dust bunnies have their way with the corners. The laundry can be done another day. I have a baby lamb to cuddle.

Looking outside my window, with snow swirling around and the day coming to an end, my world is blessed with a lamb sitting on my lap as I type these words. I can feel his tiny heart beating and hear his baby breath flowing in and out of his newborn chest. Let the snow fly, let banks of white stuff pile up outside my door. Thanks, winter. It’s time for lambs.

Dyan Redick calls herself “an accidental farmer with a purpose." Bittersweet Heritage Farm, located on the St. George peninsula of Maine, is a certified Maine State Dairy offering cheeses made with milk from a registered Saanen goat herd, a seasonal farm stand full of wool from a Romney cross ﬂock, goat milk soap, lavender woolens, and whatever else strikes Dyan’s fancy. Her farm is also an extension of her belief that we should all gain a better understanding of our food sources, our connection to where we live, and to the animals with whom we share the earth.

All MOTHER EARTH NEWS community bloggers have agreed to follow our Blogging Best Practices, and they are responsible for the accuracy of their posts. To learn more about the author of this post, click on the byline link at the top of the page.

If anyone from Texas ever tells you that something went “haywire” it usually means that a mechanical or electrical device has stopped working properly, or altogether. Broken machinery now leaving you a lot less comfortable than you were just a minute ago when it was only making a "funny noise." Once in awhile haywire also refers to a troubled, “misunderstood” neighbor having a really bad day, but we try not to rehash the “Padgett Prom Princess Pummels Presbyterians” headlines from a couple years ago. Automobiles, household appliances, children’s toys... they all go haywire at some point, which means you either get a new one, get the old one fixed, fix it yourself, or do without. We do a lot of “fix it yourself” around my off-grid house in the country. Sounds noble, I know, but really it’s because I’m a cheapskate. Money is meant to be used for purchasing only things you enjoy, such as more chickens, more fertile chicken eggs, a new incubator, more housing for chickens, and a few more pullets should do it. I couldn’t fix the incubator. Cheap crap.

Oddly enough, “haywire” likewise refers to a universal replacement part you’ll need to fix the confounded machine hellbent on making your life suck. To fix the busted machinery, gather up some duct tape, a screw gun and a handful of metal roofing screws, and plenty of haywire (hay baling wire). These three items will mend just about anything you can manage to break or let wear out if your Mechanical Creativity Quotient (MCQ) is up to snuff. The McGyver character MCQ was genius level. (Play along, please, it’s a thing I’m trying to start.) Hay bailing wire, made from a metal alloy and extruded into lengths of hundreds of feet, is wrapped and tied tightly around large bales of hay in many shapes and sizes. A bale can hold together for years. Baling wire can also be used to temporarily piece broken machinery parts back together in almost every application, especially situations where you’re stranded 65 miles from town, or your means of cooling off the house in the middle of a scorching Texas summer grinds to a loud, screeching halt. If Necessity is the Mother of Invention, hay baling wire is her apron strings, tied tightly to all things in need of fixin’.

Here’s a recent example of how my philosophy of “fix it yourself” kept me out of hot water, at least temporarily.

"The swamp cooler went haywire last night so I had to fix it in the dark. Better give it a look-see before we take off," I remembered as Joe Don and I were headed for town early one Monday morning.

I hate it when that happens,” quipped my running buddy Joe Don, a man of few words but my longtime friend nonetheless.

“I’ll say. Man, it sound like a alley cat three-way at first, making a high-pitched, squealingest racket you ever heard. Couple minutes later the belt jumped off and shut her down.”

“Hot last night.”

“Hotter’n two rats humping in a wool sock. Weren’t no two ways about it, I had to get up and fix the darn thing.”

“That new girlfriend of yours looking at you funny?”

“Didn’t take long, did it? I found one of those tin foil turkey roasting pans leftover from the chili cook-off in the kitchen, kinda flattened it out and covered up the rusted out part on the bottom of the cooler. Sealed her up with some duct tape, silicone, and a few screws, then I tied the bracket and pulley back in place with that haywire there, put the belt back on and voila, cool breezes.”

“Reckon she’ll hold up?”

“Don’t see why not. If it was gonna give up the ghost for good, you’d think it would’a happened in the first 100 years.”

“Don’t make ‘em like they use to.”

“Good thing we’re still making hay.”

“Otherwise wouldn’t be no haywire.”

“And I’d be hot as a road lizard.”

“And looking for a new girlfriend.”

Fix it yourself. A good policy to keep if you’re living on the farm, off-grid, way out in the country, or downtown New York City for that matter.

Everything goes haywire at some point.

All MOTHER EARTH NEWS community bloggers have agreed to follow our Blogging Best Practices, and they are responsible for the accuracy of their posts. To learn more about the author of this post, click on the byline link at the top of the page.

I’m not sure what this topic has to do with homesteading but it does have to do with our life in the mountains and the first day of spring. We don’t need a calendar or meteorologist to tell us when spring starts at our location. We have our own indicators that are also very accurate. We have a little thing-a-ma-bob that we bought at a craft fair many years ago that does a remarkable job of predicting spring time. It is a small cut glass triangle soldered together with a prism hanging in the middle. It accurately tells us exactly when spring arrives each year. Even though we still have two feet of snow on the ground outside the little prism doesn’t lie about the beginning of spring regardless of the snow.

We purchased this cut glass do-hickey probably 25+ years ago at one of the premium craft fairs in Tallahassee, Florida. We have always enjoyed craft fairs because of the hand made and unique items that are available. I believe it was at that particular fair that we also purchased four rum balls from two nice ladies from Georgia who were selling them for .50 cents each. They were the best rum balls I have ever tasted and they sold out quickly as others found them tasty as well. After walking around looking at the various items and munching our rum balls we noticed we were getting a little buzz from the rum balls. Neither of us are drinkers so we noticed the potency of those rum balls quickly. Did I mention how craft fairs have unique and different items for sale?

We came to a booth where the vendor had made several cut and beveled glass items with prisms hanging inside. We purchased one and have displayed it or hung it in a window ever since. Therefore when we moved here 18 years ago the triangular window in our living room seemed to be the perfect place to locate the cut glass trinket. We noticed one year that on the first day of spring it commenced to emit rainbows. As the seasons went by we found that our house was perfectly situated so that on the first day of spring each year rainbows would suddenly be all over the ceiling. It clearly has something to do with the precise positioning of our house and the rotation of the earth but we have watched for several years now and on the first day of spring the rainbows magically appear.

Of course there are other signs of spring we observe as well that we have become attuned to here in the mountains. None quite as reliable as that little triangular cut glass/prism hanging in the window though. During the winter we may see a single grosbeak at the bird feeder but when spring starts they seem to flock together with 20 or more in each flock. The start of spring is usually when we see our first chipmunk also. With the ground still covered in snow this year on the first day of spring there was a brave little chipmunk sitting on the front steps basking in the sun light. That was also the first time we observed a robin hopping down the driveway.

When I looked up the term equinox I found that it happens two times a year when the daylight and darkness are about equal with each other (Wikipedia). Our prism and cut glass thing-a-ma-jig and its rainbows coincide precisely with that spring equinox so we have our own tool to tell us when the first day of spring happens. When we had our house built we didn’t plan to have it positioned this way but it just turned out that way. I’m glad we discovered that the position of our house, the spring equinox, along with our prism all come together to tell us exactly when spring starts. It is usually spot on in accuracy but can be a day early or late depending on cloud cover which blocks the sun. That doesn’t change the first day of spring it just hides it from us to be discovered later. The further into spring we get the more the rainbows appear each morning. Some days we will have dozens of rainbows floating around the front of the house and it is mesmerizing to witness this beautiful spectacle each morning.

Again I don’t have a clue how this relates to homesteading but if you attend a craft fair and spot one of these trinkets I would recommend purchasing one and doing a little experimentation with the windows of your domicile. It just may be that a window will be found that will predict the first day of spring like ours does. We came upon our revelation accidentally but the floating rainbows produced each year are so beautiful that they compel a person to stop for a moment just to admire them. Even though we may have been a little tipsy when we came across this trinket initially we have not regretted for a moment making the purchase. The beauty it has provided us over the years simply can’t be measured in dollars.

All MOTHER EARTH NEWS community bloggers have agreed to follow our Blogging Best Practices, and they are responsible for the accuracy of their posts. To learn more about the author of this post, click on the byline link at the top of the page.

Quality protein is essential to the healthy growth of any omnivore or carnivore, whether it be pig, poultry, fish, reptile, canine, or human. Soy fills this need, but it has an increasingly large environmental footprint and its mass-scale production is anything but sustainable. Finding a cheap and easy alternative to this greedy crop has become imperative, and that’s where mealworms come in.

The Dark Side of Soybean Production

The majority of soy produced worldwide is used as a protein supplement for animals, while a lesser proportion is grown for human consumption and for biofuel. Between the three markets, a huge demand for soybeans has developed, and it is causing a massive problem.

To produce one pound of soy, it requires over 240 gallons of water (Save Our Water), 17 square feet of land (USDA projects record crop production), and it releases 0.86 pounds of CO2 into the atmosphere (Tofu Carbon Footprint). It also is important to note that about 90 percent of soy grown in the U.S. is genetically modified and needs a large amount of herbicides, mostly fossil fuel based. Because of this drain on precious natural resources, soy production has become a leading cause of deforestation in places like Brazil (Wikipedia: Deforestation in Brazil).

The Soy Alternative

Soy protein is often hailed as a "green" replacement for meat. However, it is the use of soy within the meat industry that is largely responsible for the emissions and carbon footprint of livestock production. If animals didn’t consume so much soy, they would be considerably less harmful to the environment.

So what’s the alternative? At first glance, there doesn’t seem to be much of a choice available for efficient protein production, and soy is currently the cheapest on the market. But for the small-scale producer, there is a little known option that can be produced at a fraction of the cost and environmental impact of soybeans.

Enter the mighty mealworm. As far as insects go, mealworms don’t look that impressive. They are about 1-1/2 inches long, a tannish yellow color, and spend most of their time under the surface of their substrate (they don't like light). The adult form is called a darkling beetle, a primary decomposer within forest ecosystems. They only live a few months, but they breed prolifically. They are typically considered a pest in granaries and cereal stores, because they thrive on "meals" made from grains and grain byproducts.

Under this unassuming exterior lies a powerful tool for farmers and consumers alike to produce cheap protein in a small space. Mealworms are extremely efficient at converting food into bodyweight. It takes about 2 pounds of food to produce a pound of mealworms. Compare that with a cow, which has a ratio of 8:1. Mealworms have another advantage: they are consumed whole, compared with larger livestock, whereby 50 percent of the bodyweight is composed of bones, offal, and other inedible portions.

Mealworms thrive in cramped conditions and are at least 17 times more productive per unit of space than soy. They require less than 1/2 gallon of water per pound of mealworms produced, making them 500 times more efficient than soy in terms of water use. They also eat a wide variety of waste streams, including grain by-products, dried weeds, and even manures from other animals. You'd be hard pressed to match this level of resource efficiency with any common livestock or crop grown today.

Aside from the protein production, mealworms also produce another valuable resource: frass. Mealworm frass is a dry, odorless waste product. It is easy to handle and store, and doesn't have the same drawbacks as other animal manures. It retails for $15/pound or more online. Frass has N/P/K values of 3.66 percent, 1.40 percent, 1.62 percent, respectively, and a Carbon/Nitrogen ratio of 9.86, making it a quality fertilizer and great addition to composts or topsoil.

Mealworm Farming

The most common food for mealworms is wheat bran, a byproduct of wheat. But, as mentioned earlier, mealworms can eat a wide range of other things too, including oats, dried grasses, straw, grain/feed dust, agriculture waste, and herbivore manures. Many of these potential mealworm meals are considered waste streams, which means that they are usually in plentiful supply, and are often free or very cheap.

Furthermore, when waste products are thrown away, they often become problematic. For example, animal manures can pollute water supplies and contribute to climate change through methane production. Similarly, lawn clippings clog landfills and municipal waste management systems. Using mealworms to process these wastes can not only provide us with an alternative to soy, they can also greatly reduce the bulk of organic pollution in our waste stream.

Mixing herbivore manure with a carbohydrate source, like bran or grass, we can provide a balanced diet for mealworms. We mix the manure and carbon at a 1:1 ratio, and with mealworms' FCR of 2:1, that means for every pound of manure we feed them, we get a pound of mealworms out.

Seeing as mealworms do not like the light, we designed our Mealworm Farm (Instructables: Mealworm Farm) as a tower with closely spaced shelves. Not only does this make their habitat a little darker, but it is also extremely space efficient. It takes 1-1/2 square feet of space to produce 1-1/2 pounds of mealworms a week. Furthermore, we made each tray different, according to the different stages of the insect’s life cycle. The trays with growing worms all contain screened bottoms, allowing the frass to filter down and be easy to collect, ready for use on our garden.

Mealworms in Livestock Feed

So, how do mealworms work in livestock feed? The answer is that mealworms are a high quality protein source, and can replace the use of soy in any omnivore’s diet. Poultry relish the mealworms, and the wiggly treats are a great way to tame any bird. Gecko and lizard owners know the power of mealworms, as they are the default live food for many of those animals. Dogs, cats, pigs, and fish all enjoy mealworms raw, and will quickly ignore their commercial ration in favor of the tasty larva.

Mealworms have 48 percent protein by weight (Feedipedia: Mealworms), which is similar to soy’s 50 percent protein (Feedipedia: Soybean meal). Mealworms contain more total energy per pound, however, and have lower ash and crude fiber content.

Just like soy, they need to be mixed with other feed sources, as a pure protein diet is not healthy or balanced. Mealworms can be dried for grinding and added to commercial rations using existing infrastructure, and require less processing than soy. Combined with their lower resource consumption and cost, mealworms offer a real option as a protein source for animals.

Mealworms in Human Diets

Humans can also eat mealworms, and the growing entomophagy communities in western countries recommend mealworms as the perfect starter insect. They can be fried, toasted, sautéed, powdered, and even made into ToFu! They are very tasty and their appearance is simple, not a lot of legs and antennae to scare dinner guests.

An average adult requires some 400 grams (.88 pounds) of protein per week. An optimized mealworm production system (How To: Mealworm Farm) can produce this in less than 2 square feet of space. This is smaller than most refrigerators. Imagine a protein supply in a spare closet or room, producing protein and garden fertilizer on a regular basis. This is only possible with efficient insects, like mealworms.

FAO has been promoting insects as viable protein sources for humans (Insects for Food and Feed) as a way to reduce the environmental impact of meat. And using insects as a meat supply marks a significant reduction in that impact, mainly because of their efficiency. But these studies go only so far, as they assume feeding insects grains and soy, so they are basically replacing a cow with a mealworm. While this does reduce the overall footprint, there still remains a significant impact associated with this practice.

We can do much better than this. It seems illogical to use valuable land to grow grains for insects; they have not been bred for decades to eat grain-based diets, so why use such a resource intensive feed source? Keep the grains for the humans and use other feedstock, preferably ones that are considered waste or by-products, for the insects. That way, we can start the relatively new practice of farming insects on a much more efficient, sustainable foundation than some of our older agricultural methods.

Integrating our meat and livestock production with waste streams makes both common and financial sense. Waste streams are abundant and often free. We already have most of the infrastructure in place to handle these resources, so it's a matter of rerouting them through the appropriate areas. While insects are the logical first step, they are by no means the only option. Rabbits, chickens, pigs, and many other livestock can be easily integrated with the enormous organic waste streams that humans produce.

We've developed a framework for designing integrated farming systems called Food Web (Food Web: Raising Food the Right Way). Food Web enables the small-scale producer to design entire "webs" around local resources, like waste streams. By selecting appropriate animals and connections, we can produce significantly more food without additional feed inputs.

Food Web makes use of insects, like mealworms, to convert manures and waste products from one animal node to provide feed to another. The perfect example of this is seen in the use of rabbit manure to produce mealworms for your chicken flock. The more rabbits you have, the more chickens you can feed with mealworms.

Replacing soy in both livestock and human diets will become a necessity as resources continue to dwindle. For the small-scale farmer, this means exploring all options from a DIY perspective. Mealworms appear to be a great option for this niche, and although many people may object to a mealworm burger in the foreseeable future, feeding your chickens and pigs with mealworms is not only doable, it's easy, cheap, and environmentally sensible.

All MOTHER EARTH NEWS community bloggers have agreed to follow our Blogging Best Practices, and they are responsible for the accuracy of their posts. To learn more about the author of this post, click on the byline link at the top of the page.

Finally, the weather has been just about right: warm, sunny days without a wind that causes the snow to melt in rings around the base of the trees, followed by clear, frosty nights that harden the snow to a stiff crust. The birds sing out robustly and there are new voices—the Phoebe calls from the crest of the barn roof, proclaiming his territory. And there is the subtle drip-drip of melting snow off the edge of the shed roof.

The maple trees are thinking of spring as well. All winter, they have hoarded their sugary reserves deep in their roots, waiting for the warming sun to awaken the buds at the furthest tips of their branches. Gray and angular, they have waited this long winter, and now they are primed and ready. Up goes the sap in the warm daytime, then back down again to the roots when the night’s frost is too strong.

The same solar stimulus that excited the maple trees also awakens those hearty northerners who bundle up to trudge through the remaining snow with a bucket full of taps, a sled full of pails, a hammer, a crowbar (for the ones you didn’t put in right on the first try), and a trusty drill. It’s time for the “sugaring” season in the Northwoods—time to crawl out of our winter hovels and spend some time in the woods snitching a bit of that tasty sap on its way up…or on its way down.

But syruping is a finicky business. Some days, the sap will flow enough to pull the buckets right off the taps. Other days, conditions will be grand but the buckets lie empty. Tap too soon and the holes can heal over before the trees really get going. Tap too late and you miss the leading edge of the run, which makes the lightest syrup. Have a bit of a wind or too much rain, and who knows what will happen. If the temperatures don’t get warm enough in the day or stay too warm at night, there’s little hope for a good crop. After a bad drought, it’s best not to tap at all.

Harvesting sap is a bit like asking the maple trees for a blood donation. Folks who know what they’re doing have an inkling for how many taps a tree can sustain, without asking too much. Hearty, spreading grandfather trees might reverently be called “Old Nine-Buckets,” while a new initiate will start with just one bucket. Over the summer, the holes from the taps heal closed, with little more of a scar than a visit from a woodpecker.

Learning how to make maple syrup is one of those processes that is best begun as an apprentice. Our training-in process was with Jim and Jerry, two northwoods characters who couldn’t help but get an itch when spring was on the way. Our tools were primitive in the beginning—a hand-crank antique drill, repurposed cooking oil jugs, a couple ice-cream buckets full of plastic T’s and taps, and some clear hosing. A home-made boiling pan run with propane sent billows of steam into the crisp air from its tarp-enclosed shelter near the edge of the woods. We lugged buckets across the yard and into the back of our van. Those five-gallon buckets looked much bigger then…but I was a bit smaller, as well.

While Jerry was a close neighbor, Jim lived down the road apiece, on a spot overlooking two lakes. His yard was a majestic stand of sugar maples, and we would go and help Jim tap the trees while he followed along on his put-put lawn tractor with the little cart behind full of supplies. Jim would lean on the steering wheal, chuckling, and offering advice.

“You gonna tap that oak tree too?” he teased.

“What?” I stood up, all set to start cranking the creaky drill with the half-worn wooden handle. I take a moment to look at the tree closer. “Oh…” and we both laugh.

“Seems like you were gonna tap that tree last year too! Not sure you’d get much, though.”

Every day, Jim would take the little put-put around with the trailer behind and pick up the day’s sap. We could see his little blue car curving up the slushy driveway and quickly throw on some boots to come out and meet him.

“Well girls,” he’d say, that gypsy twinkle in his eyes. “Didn’t get much today, I think.” Then he’d pop the latch to his trunk and there would be 10 buckets in there, full to the top. We could hardly get them out!

“Aw sure, Jim,” we’d tease right back. And while Jim didn’t eat much syrup himself, he was always giving pints as gifts to nurses and neighbors and other folks who helped him out since his wife had passed. You knew it was that time of year when the phone would ring and that Santa Claus voice on the other end would begin, “Well, girls…”

Jerry had his own particular ways of doing things, and they were very scientific too—about as scientific as watching the drip off a wooden spoon. And not just any spoon would do, it had to be this special one, which had probably been in the maple syrup service since before my grandmother was born.

“Now, you see the curl on the end?” he’d insist, pointing at the spoon.

“On the end of what?”

“On the end of the drip — the drip that’s left hanging on the spoon. It’s got to have that curl, or it isn’t ready yet.”

I’d squint at it a bit while he gave the spoon a good stir in the fragrant, thick liquid.

“No sense in wasting good jars on thin syrup.”

But syrup that is too thick won’t do you any service either—forget trying to match the consistency of the corn-based stuff in the store. Too high a sugar content and it can’t stay in solution. One batch of syrup we canned one spring years back made rock candy on the bottom of the jar. Not that this was such a bad thing…except we couldn’t get the candy out without breaking the jars.

But there’s nothing quite like the smell of a boiling pan of clear sap, watching that curling steam weave its way out into the early spring air…or the taste of the year’s first syrup on a stack of multi-grain pancakes on a frosty morning. While we haven’t made maple syrup on our farm in a few years (losing Jim to cancer rather took the wind out of the process), the early signs of spring bring back the fond memories of neighbors lending a hand in the sugaring process, the sound of the wind in the maple branches, and the taste of homemade maple syrup still hot from the vat.

Here’s a delicious way to enjoy maple syrup beyond pancakes and waffles.

4. Brush with more of the glaze and bake for a remaining 3 to 5 minutes or until done. Serve on rice or couscous with fresh greens. Enjoy!

As Jerry would say, “That will sweeten you up.” See you down on the farm sometime.

Laura Berlage is a co-owner of North Star Homestead Farms, LLC and Farmstead Creamery & Café.

Tapping trees in Jim's yard, hoping for a good flow of sap! Photo by Charles (Grandpa) Steidinger

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Living off the electricity grid gives you a unique perspective on things. Energy. Independence. Luxuries. Miracles.

Even after 17 years of living this way I find I’m still amazed at the wonder of the everyday and mundane things that make our lives so easy. I never appreciated them in the city. They were just there. But once I was involved in their creation I got a unique perspective, kind of like when you were a kid and you learned some amazing new mind blowing snippet of knowledge.

Michelle and I have come to have an attitude of gratitude in our lives. I’ve talked about it in my books, but one of things most associated with ‘happiness’ in people is gratitude. I am grateful to have been born where, and when I was, and I’m grateful for the infinite wonders modern life provides. And I won’t even go to smart phones and the interweb. Nope. Because you are much less likely to enjoy such technology if you don’t first have a toilet the flushes.

So here, represented pictorially are some of the things that I marvel at daily. (Or if I were Oprah … or Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music, I would sing them to the tune of “My Favorite Things.”)

Running water. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get water flowing out of a tap? You drill a well, put down a pump, it pushes the water up into a pressure tank, the water then flows through pipes throughout your house, and it comes out of that tap, under pressure, whenever you turn on the tap. The wonders never cease! I’m not just making this up, I marvel every time I turn that miraculous tap on. Wherever you live, every time you turn on a tap you should a say little thank you for the miracle that is running water. (Particularly if it is clean running water!)

Electricity. I produce all of my own electricity from the sun and wind. Seventeen years ago solar panels were very expensive and Michelle and I spent a lot of money to purchase the various components of the system that powers our home so very efficiently. And every day I walk out to the battery room and see the glowing lights and hear the hum of inverters and I am awe struck with the wonder of it all. Making electricity is hard. And it’s expensive. “Grid Dwellers” as we call them, really have no concept of what’s involved, so they spend a lot of their own energy complaining about their electricity bills. If you don’t like your bill, cut the cord and try generating the electricity yourself. You’ll quickly find yourself telling utility workers that you see on the street how grateful you are for this amazing service they provide. A light switch or electrical outlet with an appliance plugged is a truly miraculous thing.

Firewood. This piece of wood came from a tree that grew on our property. It used photosynthesis to absorb CO2 from the atmosphere and released oxygen back and it sequestered that carbon in its woody mass. And when I burn this wood it releases only the carbon it absorbed, so it is carbon neutral. But best of all, it will fill our home with wonderful, convective, bone warming radiant joyful heat that makes our northern winters bearable. By March I’m getting tired of stoking our woodstove, but I never lose the wonder at this incredible way to heat our home that our species has been using since we starting walking on two feet.

Hot running water. No, it’s not the water one again, it’s hot water! Getting water out of a tap is hard enough, making it hot is ridiculously hard. Now if you have a natural gas pipe coming to your house it seems easy enough. But when you try and make it yourself, and you try and make it in an atmosphere-sparing carbon neutral way, it’s just a monumental challenge. Our solar domestic hot water heater is a thing of beauty and every time I wash my hands in hot water I am grateful to live in such a wondrous time.

Hash Brown Potatoes. These are potatoes that I grew, that I stored in our root cellar last fall, being cooked on a woodstove powered by wood I cut. They will give me the energy I need to cut more firewood for next winter. And they are insanely tasty. Seems pretty much like a cool closed loop to me.

Scrambled Eggs. These are that scrambled eggs produced by our happy chickens. We feed them and give them warm water and treats all winter and they convert grains to amazing animal protein that will also power me to take on the day. And the eggs taste awesome. And the manure and straw I clean out of their coop is just the perfect supplement for our sandy soils. Oh how I love my chickens. And yes, breakfast is my favorite meal of the day. (And no, they are not green eggs. I like to add some chopped spinach to my scrambled eggs.)

Oranges. And yes, we do have some luxuries in our life. I’m 55 and when I was a kid, getting a huge navel orange in my stocking at Christmas was a big deal, because we didn’t eat much fruit in the winter. Apparently there weren’t as many diesel trucks bringing this stuff to the north back then. So when I eat an orange I am in awe to live in a time when such unbelievable luxuries are available to us every day. I live like a king.

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